


Serendipity

by catastrophicmeltdown



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gift Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:51:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catastrophicmeltdown/pseuds/catastrophicmeltdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock takes a bullet for John, it forces the two to reveal their feelings for each other. </p>
<p>Written for the johnlockchallenges gift exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the johnlockchallenges exchange for [erinkwilson](http://erinkwilson.tumblr.com/)who requested: "John is sure that Sherlock could never feel the same way. Cold. Distant. But in a moment of danger Sherlock takes a bullet for John! WOAH FEELINGS REVEALED. Sherlock is suprised and hurt that John doesn't realize how he feels. "I thought you understood how I felt" sadface sherlock. A happy ending please?"
> 
> I tried my best, and there are some things I'm unhappy with, but I hope you enjoy the story anyway.

Sherlock attracted trouble wherever he went. It was a fact of life, and John had just learned to accept it. It seemed like every time he let Sherlock out of his sight, the man was attacked, kidnapped, or nearly unconscious from so little food and sleep even his well-trained body just couldn’t run any longer.

Backed into a dead-end alley by muggers was a new situation though.

They had Sherlock and John pinned, the four of them blocking the alley easily. Their guns were pointing steadily at the pair, in a way that showed experience with firearms. John had gotten so used to seeing guns held in some ridiculous variations of action film poses that he actually approved of their muggers.

Sherlock had definitely rubbed off on him if seeing someone holding a gun to his face properly actually pleased him.

John really wished he hadn’t left his gun at the flat.

He looked around the alley, searching for weapons in case things got ugly. He spotted the CCTV camera turned into the alley. He let out a quiet sigh of relief. Mycroft’s men would get here soon to clean up the mess.

“Oi, short stuff, you paying attention?”

John brought his attention back to what the men were saying. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Wallet. Now. And be quick about it!”

John glanced at Sherlock, and at his nod he reached into his pocket and pulled it out. He tossed it to the muggers, Sherlock doing the same afterward.

The man who was apparently the leader gestured one of the others forward. They picked up the wallets and rifled through them, taking all the money and cards. They all stuffed some in their pockets before turning back to their victims.

The leader pointed the gun at John.

“You took too long.”

His finger squeezed the trigger as John felt something collide with his side. He hit the ground as the shot rang out, banging his head against the stone. There was the loud thud of someone hitting the ground as the muggers turned and ran.

John sat up and looked around frantically, a little disoriented from his fall.

“Sherlock?” he called, looking where he last saw the man. He was lying in a heap on the floor, and John could see the blood starting to seep out from under his coat.

“Sherlock!”

John dashed to Sherlock’s side, gently turning him onto his back to get a better look at his wounds. Blood was welling up from a bullet wound in the left side of his chest. John refused to think about how it was only centimetres from his heart, instead focusing on stemming the bleeding and easing Sherlock’s breathing.

He pulled off his jumper and pressed it to the wound. The bullet was a through-and-through, thankfully, so John didn’t have to worry about it being stuck inside the wound. Sherlock groaned and opened his eyes, blearily focusing on John.

“Stay focused on me, Sherlock. Mycroft will have my head if I let you die in a dirty alley after a mugging gone wrong.”

“I won’t die here; I’ve got you. Don’t worry so much, John. I’ll be fine.” Sherlock snorted. “We’ll even match when this is all over.”

John swallowed. “I wish we wouldn’t.”

Sherlock tried to shrug, stopping when the wound made itself very much known. “Ow.”

“That’s what happens when you jump in front of a bullet. That was incredibly stupid and I’ll have your hide for it when this is all over.”

“Had to. Would’ve shot you.”

“Better me than you.”

“No!” Sherlock exclaimed, grabbing John’s wrist tightly. “Never. You’re important. Very. Very... lo... you...”

Sherlock was losing coherency, and John’s jumper was soaked with blood.

“C’mon, Sherlock! Stay with me. Mycroft’s ambulance will be here any minute.”

Sherlock grimaced, and John couldn’t quite hold back a chuckle. Even in their current situation, Sherlock could still muster up a grimace over his brother.

Right on cue, John heard the wails of the ambulance over the rumble of London’s traffic.

“See, Sherlock? Mycroft’s good for something.”

The answering grimace was short-lived. Sherlock started drifting away, so John kept up a stream of small talk to keep Sherlock focused while they waited.

Finally, the ambulance showed up. The paramedics made quick work of Sherlock, stabilising him while John filled them in on what they needed to know. Then they loaded him into the ambulance and were speeding to the hospital.

The moment they arrived Sherlock was rushed to the OR while John was herded to a waiting room. He sat and wrung his hands, wishing he could help but knowing he wouldn’t be allowed. Not when his hands were shaking the way they were.

That’s when it hit him.

He’d almost lost Sherlock. A few centimetres to the right, and Sherlock would’ve been a corpse in that alley. If the ambulance had been a few minutes later, he would’ve bleed out.

John wonders what they did with his jumper.

He hopes Lestrade gets the case. Even though it's not his division.

He wonders if Sherlock is crashing on the table.

His thoughts continue going in various directions until the surgeon comes out and sees him several hours later.

“Doctor Watson,” she says, extending a hand.

John takes it. “How is he, Doctor?”

“He’s stable. The bullet managed to miss his ribs, so it was easier to patch him up than it could have been. He’s being moved to his room now. You can see him if you want, just ask someone at the desk for his room number.”

John thanked her and asked at the desk before heading for Sherlock’s room. He leaned against the wall and breathed in relief when he saw Sherlock alive and almost well, still asleep as the anaesthesia worked its way out of his system.

John dragged a chair closer to Sherlock’s bed, making himself as comfortable as possible as he settled in for the wait. He hoped Sherlock didn’t wake up soon. The man needed more sleep.

And when he woke up, he was going to get a stern talking to.

It didn’t matter how deep his one-sided feelings ran, he was going to kill that man when he woke up.

* * *

John slowly drifted back to awareness. He wondered when he'd fallen asleep as he rolled his shoulders to ease the stiffness. He would testify to hospitals purposefully using the worst chairs they could find to discourage family members from spending all of their time there.

It was when he tried to move his hands that he became aware of the gentle pressure around his left hand. He looked down and saw that Sherlock had it firmly clasped in his right as he slept. He must have grabbed it in his sleep.

John did his best to extricate himself without waking Sherlock, but he wouldn't let go. After a few tries he gave it up as a bad job and settled back in his chair.

Sherlock, no doubt roused by all the movement, began to wake. John tried to remove his hand again, but Sherlock only gripped harder. Sherlock opened his eyes and was met by a sheepish-looking John.

"Sorry about waking you."

"It is of no consequence. It's about time I woke up."

"Still, I wish I hadn't." John finally removed his hand. Sherlock frowned but said nothing. "But you can make me feel better by promising to never do something as stupid as jumping in front of a bullet again."

Sherlock looked at him as if he were mad.

"Don't look at me like that. I don't ever want you throwing your life away for me. I'm not worth it."

"Don't be silly, John. Of course you're worth it. It was worth a wound to save your life."

"No it's not, Sherlock! You're a genius. You help the Yard and put away murderers no one else could have caught. You catch criminals around the world. I'm just the guy who tags along and makes sure you eat every now and then."

John got up and started pacing, more annoyed than he should've been. Sherlock stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and some other emotion John couldn't identify. The look on his face only made John pace more.

After a moment Sherlock pulled himself together. He grabbed John by the sleeve when his circuit took him by the bed, forcing John to stop and look at him.

"Do you really think that?"

John sighed and tried to remove Sherlock's hand. He failed.

"Of course. You're absolutely brilliant and amazing and... I'm not." John shrugged. "You don't need me."

_Not like I need you._

If John wasn't so agitated, he'd record the flabbergasted look on Sherlock's face for posterity. As it was, it didn't do much to lift his mood.

"But I do need you, John." Sherlock said, his hands moving to grip John's shoulders, as if they could impress the truth into him by themselves. "You're everything to me. I... I thought you knew that." Sherlock smiled self-deprecatingly. "You know me so well, after all."

"I'm not worth stepping in front of a bullet for, Sherlock."

"To me you are," Sherlock growled, his eyes burning into John's. "I love you, John. I should have told you explicitly before this, but I thought you knew, and were just ignoring me because you weren't interested." Sherlock cupped John's cheek, and he unconsciously leaned into the touch. "I'd do anything if it meant saving your life."

"I..." John trailed off, his thoughts in utter disarray. "I need to take a walk."

Sherlock's expression, previously so very open, shut down completely. He withdrew his hand and lay back against the bed. "Yes, of course. Take your time. I will be here should you return."

John nearly ran out of the room.

* * *

John walked briskly down the street. His thoughts were a whirlwind, ranging from "How could I miss something like that?" to "What am I doing even thinking about this?"

Looking back now, it was so obvious. The way Sherlock acted around him, how he was almost always willing to reach some sort of compromise with John but hardly ever anyone else, the way he would pay close attention to John when they were together. Even the way he _looked_ when he was around John. It all screamed 'man in love' and John had been so focused on the idea that Sherlock would never love someone like him that he'd blinded himself to all the signs.

He felt like such an idiot. 

And he felt like an utter arse for leaving Sherlock like that in the hospital. The blank but still hurt expression on Sherlock's face tugged at something painful inside him.

He loved Sherlock, and against all expectations Sherlock loved him back. So why on Earth was he strolling around London when he should be with Sherlock?

He turned around and started walking back. He had a man to catch.

* * *

Sherlock had already fallen back asleep when John returned to the hospital. John sat in his chair and firmly grasped Sherlock's hand. He used his free hand to caress Sherlock's face, gently running over the worry lines that weren't there a few hours ago. Sherlock's face relaxed and John felt something in his chest loosen.

It was almost an hour before Sherlock woke again. John shook himself slightly, having almost fallen asleep himself. Sherlock stared at their entwined hands. John squeezed and Sherlock looked up, hope sparking in his eyes. John smiled reassuringly, and Sherlock let his lips tilt tentatively upwards.

"I love you too, Sherlock. Sorry I took so long to say it."

Sherlock's smile took over his face, and John couldn't help falling a little more in love. "You're forgiven. But as recompense, I demand you kiss me at least ten times every day."

"I think I can live with that," John smiled before leaning and sealing the deal with a kiss.


End file.
